Dot To Dot
by hevaann
Summary: How can you take a secret to your grave, when you're bypassing it to go straight to hell? WINCEST


_I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, or even a chain of crappy cheap motels. I do however, have an over active imagination. _

_Sorry it's a bit sappy._

:-:

Dean was stretched out on the bed, lying on his front, the dim motel lights illuminating the bruises across his bare shoulders and upper arms.

Sam stood watching as his brother winced into the pillow, his breathing falsely even as he pretended to sleep.

These most recent bruises were the result of an extremely brutal demon attack - the already strapping opponent gaining super strength along with demonic possession.

He hadn't lived through the exorcism.

His death hadn't affected Dean - recently it seemed that the fact he was going to hell anyway was excuse enough not to have to care.

Sam knew he would never be comfortable with the loss of life and it made him so mad that Dean continued to be blasé about the whole thing - that he wasn't even attempting to fight the situation he had dealt himself in.

Saving Sam hadn't seemed a good enough reason for his brother to land himself a one-way-ticket to hell. In fact it was bloody selfish of him. Had Dean even thought about what it was going to be like for Sam without him?

Had he even thought about how guilty Sam would forever feel, knowing he was the cause of it all? How did he expect Sam to be able to live with that?

Sam moved across the room and perched on the edge of the bed, watching Dean's back rise and fall next to him on the mattress. He stared silently at the purple bruising; the years of scars etched out across Dean's skin and ached to touch them, to prove to Dean just why he needed him to stay so badly. Sam sighed inwardly, knowing that in just a few months Dean would be dead and Sam's heinous secret would go to the grave with him.

:-:

Dean had long since given up trying to sleep. He had flopped down on the bed willingly, his body protesting as he pulled off his shirt and jeans, then collapsed down face first in the pillow hoping for once the unconsciousness might come and stifle the pain. But these days it rarely did.

Knowing Sam was going to want to talk, however, he feigned sleep – he couldn't deal with the guilt rap right now. He had saved Sam and that was all there was to it, nothing Sam could say was going to change the fact; nothing was going to make Dean own up to just why he had to die.

He'd been thinking about leaving for a while anyway – sometimes he looked in the mirror and knew the greatest danger to his little brother was Dean himself. Knew that he was all Sam had, and if he violated that his brother would be crushed and destroyed beyond repair. Violated. It was an accurate word for how he felt: violating and perverse. He had wanted Sam since the boy's 14th birthday and for a while he had tried to bleed it out of himself, fighting with every hellish creature that came his way; bruising and deserving the pain.

Then Sam had eventually left and he had stopped fighting it at all. Dean was crazy about him, but Sam was miles away living a different life and oblivious to the heartache he caused.

When they had started to hunt together again, Dean found himself standing on a knife point somewhere between loving every second he got to spend with him, and hating every cell of himself for wanting him like he did. Passionately, horrifically, incestuously.

He had to die; it was the only way he would know, once and for all, that Sam would be safe from him. Because the more time he spent with him, the harder it was to keep his feelings, and his hands, to himself.

Feeling a dip in the mattress, Dean clenched his teeth together and tried to keep his breathing deep and even. It wasn't Sam's fault he sat so close – he was just concerned, unaware of the curse that seeped through his brother's veins.

Dean focussed on the thought that soon this would no longer be a problem: hell couldn't possibly be worse than this.

:-:

Sam reached out his hand and gently brushed his fingertips over the bruises on Dean's shoulders, deciding maybe he should get some ice or witch-hazel or something, when the body beneath him jumped.

"Sorry dude, I didn't mean to wake you." Sam apologised, leaning forward to examine the damage closer, "Some of these look really bad man."

"I'll be fine," Dean responded, attempting to shrug Sam off, "And I wasn't really asleep." Sam nodded; he had guessed as much, but from Dean's position he couldn't see him.

Sam glided his hands along Dean's back again, feather light, biting his lip back to stop himself from saying something stupid.

All the time thinking if he didn't touch him now, he might never get the chance.

He started a slow and gentle massage into the muscles of Dean's shoulder-blades and lower neck, and although Dean seemed to finally drift off a bit, his body still remained tense.

:-:

Dean couldn't help but react when Sam first touched him. Not that it would have been hard to explain – he could have argued his fingers were cold. And it wasn't like Sam hadn't patched him up in the past; it was just that with time running out and everything, each moment seemed more intense.

After reassuring Sam everything was ok, he lay back down and lost his face in the pillow. Maybe he should tell his brother to stop – his skin was sore and the hands on him were hot: Dean was sure they were burning trails into his skin. He concentrated on breathing. In out in out. He pushed it to the forefront of his mind in order to displace the want to flip over and gather Sam up in his arms, leaving kisses all over his skin, stripping him and making love to him until they were sore and spent. Knowing that he was strong enough to take Sam anyway; even if he fought it.

In out in out.

The pressure eased for a second and Dean felt Sam lift up from the bed, before repositioning seconds later straddled across the back of Dean's thighs.

Dean had to remind himself this was a perfectly logical thing to do – it would allow Sam better access to continue that massaging thing, it didn't have to mean anything.

Not a minute had passed when Dean's body froze solid despite his pretence of sleep. Something warm and wet was moving tenderly across his skin.

:-:

Being able to touch Dean without reprimand felt so good, if sacrilegious. From this angle he could easily explore the flesh stretched across Dean's shoulders. Feel the heat as his blood rushed to the surface beneath the touch of his palms.

Without thinking, without giving him time to stop himself, Sam leant forward and subtly licked one of the bruises before him, attempting to quell the flames of pain that lay beneath.

Feeling Dean go rigid beneath him, Sam flung himself back, hovering his body above his brother's, ready to run if need be.

Seconds passed and Dean slowly relaxed back into the pillows; he must have been asleep after all. Now would be a really good time for Sam to jump off the bed, take a cold shower and go repent in a church or something. But he didn't leave, instead lowering his body steadily back down; anxious not to apply too much pressure.

Gaining confidence in the security of Dean's unconsciousness, Sam lowered his head again and scraped his lips across the already moist bruise. Dean stirred gently beneath him.

Sam trailed his lips across the skin until they found another bruise, scattering feather-light kisses over the purple flesh.

He moved purposefully and repeatedly, always finding fresh bruises or old scars, leaving a line like a dot to dot over Dean's back.

He slipped his hands down either side of Dean, grasping at the skin of his waist, lost in the sensation of finally being able to taste his brother: forbidden and sweet.

:-:

At the first contact of Sam's tongue Dean had frozen to the spot, he relaxed quickly however, realising he must be losing it and hallucinating. Heck, he was going to hell – incestuous fantasies about your own brother were surely pretty much par for the course. He turned his head to the side, eyes still closed, cursing himself for thinking such things: for thinking maybe now they didn't matter.

He had just settled himself back down in reality when he felt Sam again, this time running his lips across his shoulders. Warm and comforting against his pulsating skin.

It was strange how real it felt, that intimate touch he was dreaming, the weight of Sam on his legs, the light brush of Sam's hair against his back. As Dream-Sam moved lower, to the wound that had once just missed his kidneys, Real-Sam gripped at his sides and jolted Dean out of his stupor.

It was all real. Those kisses, that touch, it was real. What was Sam thinking? Dean snapped his eyes open and rolled over as much as he could with his brother still pinning him down. Sam pulled his head away and had the decency to look sheepish. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean asked, roughly, his head full of sex.

Sam jumped off him sharpish, releasing the pressure from Dean's groin where his semi-hard erection was already pinned beneath him. He didn't dare turn over further for fear it would betray him.

"I just – I just..." Sam trailed off, speechless, ashamed.

Dean looked over at the hurt in his eyes and felt terrible. Sam knew; he must do. He had figured out that Dean wanted him and had felt he owed him a fond farewell before his plummet into the underworld.

"Sam, you can't," Dean tried to explain, fighting back defeated tears. "I made this deal because I wanted to, I wanted to save you. I _needed_ to save you. You don't have to do this – you don't owe me anything."

Confusion settled across Sam's features. "Owe you anything?" He repeated questioningly, puzzled.

"Sam-" Dean began, but his brother cut him off.

"You think I'm doing this for you? You think I don't want to kiss you and hold you and freaking love you for once in your whole damn life?" He was enraged, "I've never wanted anything more and I guess I thought I would just take it before you die on me." His anger had given ways to tears, "I'm sorry I'm such a freak." He collapsed down on one of the hard plastic motel chairs, unable to meet Dean's eyes.

:-:

He'd done it now. He had broken the vow he thought he would take to his grave and told Dean. His few months left with him were about to be reduced to mere minutes. Any second now Dean was going to grab his stuff and storm out the door, clueless how it could be _him _going to hell when Sam so rightly deserved it.

Clueless as to why he had saved Sam's life in the first place.

"You are a fucking retard."

Sam lifted his head up, staring across at the bed where Dean was now sitting up, a grin plastered all over his beautiful face.

"Not making me feel better Dean," Sam admitted.

"You want me? Love me?"

"Damn Dean! I thought I'd said that, or was one big gay inappropriate moment not enough for you?" Defensively he had slipped into sarcasm.

"I was so scared."

"Don't panic, I'm not going to rape you or anything." Sam's eyes were painfully hollow.

"I didn't mean of you," Dean sighed and got up off the bed, padding over on his bare feet to where Sam was sitting. He crouched down in front of him, hands on the other boy's knees, and looked straight at him, more honestly than he had done for as long as he could remember.

"I was scared of me." He confessed, quietly.

Sam tried to breathe, wishing Dean wasn't so close, hell- just wishing he wasn't acting so understanding; things would change as soon as the penny dropped.

"I was scared," Dean continued, "That one day it wouldn't be enough; just being with you. You're my baby brother – it's my job to protect you." He reached one hand up and cupped Sam's cheek, feeling as he leant into his open palm.

"I don't know when things changed, but one day I knew I loved you, and I was so scared the truth would destroy you."

"If you're fucking me around..." Sam began, but was abruptly cut off as Dean instantly stretched up and gathered those lips in his – pouring all his passion, all his love, into the one kiss he had been waiting a lifetime for.

Unable to deny him, Sam kissed him back using his hands and arms to grab and hold as much of Dean as possible.

:-:

Later, as they lay there in the warmth of each other, Dean smiled into Sam's skin. So he was going to hell? _That was pretty certain either way_, he thought as he ran his hands across his brother's torso, feeling it mould into his fingertips.

But now he wasn't going without a fight. Now he had something worth living for.


End file.
